


touch-starved

by earlgrey_milktea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Skinship, Sleepy Cuddles, in the most innocent way i swear, kuroo's in college and bo + dai are his roomies, lots of cuddles because i'm weak, physical intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6721189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I've missed you," he whispers, "so much."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>in which kenma decides to visit kuroo, and intimacy, in the form of physical contact, has always come easy to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	touch-starved

**Author's Note:**

> happy kuroken day??  
> i miss krkn so much bury me in kuroken cuddles aaa

Daichi’s the one that lets you in. He nods at your quiet mumble of thanks and points you towards the kitchen before heading back into his room, carrying what looks like an entire jug of coffee with him. You take in a breath before turning the corner.

Kuro is hunched over the dining table with his head in his hands, while Bokuto is sitting across from him, facedown in a textbook that’s almost as thick as his head. There are papers and notebooks, highlighters and empty cans of RedBull and coffee cups littering every flat surface. It looks like a fierce battle against academics has taken place here. You’re not certain they were victorious.

Quietly, you pad across the kitchen tiles. Neither of them notice your presence, so you reach out a hand to nudge Kuro on the shoulder. He groans into his hands, painfully whining, “Can’t you see we’re on our deathbeds here, make your own coffee, Daichi.”

You try again, this time slipping your fingers through his messy hair, sliding from the back of his head down to where his hairline ends at the top of his neck. He stiffens immediately, recognizing the touch. You watch as he blinks up at you, half disbelieving and half ecstatic.

“K-Kenma? What--What are you doing here? I thought you had a practice match this weekend?”

You shake your head. “Postponed. You sounded like you wanted to see me over the phone.” Suddenly feeling like an intruder, your hands clutch at the hem of your shirt. “Should I... not have come?”

“No! I mean, yes, wait, no---I mean.” Kuro closes his mouth, breathing in deeply. “I always want to see you.”

His arms are reaching for you, and, like a chemical reaction, you are already leaning into his embrace, fitting yourself around his lanky frame like pulling on your favourite sweater. You let out the breath you’ve been holding inside of you all this while, since he’s gone away to college and you were left behind to wait another year, because even though you both had an unspoken agreement to keep in touch through various social media platforms and video calls every night, it’s not the same, it’s never enough. 

He feels like coming home after a long, long trip away, one you hadn’t even realized you had taken.

“Are you busy studying?” you ask, your hands already finding the edges of his shoulder blades, rubbing soothing circles there and feeling his muscles relax almost instinctively. 

“I think we’ve reached the point where nothing else will go in,” he says, laughing slightly, and you can feel yourself sigh at the familiar sound. He runs a hand through your hair, mostly back to black by now, still long enough to cover your field of vision if needed. “Hey, Bo, let’s take a break, yeah? How’s takeout for dinner?”

The defeated figure on other side of the table lets out a muffled sob of affirmation, unsticking his face from the textbook. He blinks at the sight of you practically half on top of Kuro, and a tired smile spreads across his face. “Dude, I must be really tired, I’m seeing Kenma.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s here, owl brain.”

You give Bokuto a little wave as he rubs his eyes. “What? Aw, man, not fair. Akaashi never visits me by himself.”

“That’s because you’re visiting him every other weekend.”

“Soooo?”

You watch with a small smile on your face as they somehow find energy to bicker with each other again. Eventually, they relocate to the living room couch, and Kuro phones the restaurant on the nearest pamphlet he grabs. The smell of hot food even manages to draw Daichi out of his room. He still looks half-dazed, though, from the way he’s muttering into his chow mein instead of making polite conversation with you like he always does.

All the while, you don’t leave Kuro’s side. He doesn’t say anything either, but his arm fits naturally against your side, and he allows his weight to lean in towards you. His warmth is something you’ve been missing for a long while. It just doesn’t translate through the pixels on a screen. 

After the styrofoam containers and plastic boxes are empty, you sink back into the couch and against Kuro as he races Bokuto on their playstation. Kuro offered the controller to you, but you are content with just watching, leaning your head against his broad back with your eyes half closed. 

Slowly, you are adjusting yourself back in tune with his body, the higher temperature of his body heat, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the spatial patterns of his movements. It’s alarmingly easy, like breathing in fresh air after being underwater for so long. Like falling asleep in your favourite comforter after pulling an all-nighter. 

He’s doing the exact same, shifting his arm so you can crawl onto his lap and settle against his chest like a cat. His eyes don’t stray from the screen as he swings his arm around your weight, leaning forward slightly until his chin rests comfortably on top of your head. Your eyes drift close to the sound of turtle shells being thrown and Bokuto’s enthusiastic hooting, a steady heartbeat in your ear and the feeling of safety within Kuro’s arms.

Some time later, Kuro wakes you by running his hands down your sides, his head nudging against yours. The tv screen is off, and his roommates are nowhere to be seen. His eyes are sleepy when you meet them. 

“Wanna take a shower? Or do you want to head to bed with me?”

A yawn escapes you. “Bed,” you mumble, feeling him smile against your shoulder. 

You climb off him, a hand clutching at the back of his shirt as he leads you to his room. It takes the both of you barely a minute to undress, and then you’re both under the covers, curling up against each other like pieces falling into place. 

It’s warm. He keeps running his hands through your hair, brushing it back to look at your face. You let him trace his fingers from your forehead down the bridge of your nose, to your cheekbones, your jawline, your lips. Your own hands find purchase under his ears, slipping down the sides of his neck, featherlight touches over his Adam’s apple as he swallows. You make eye contact with him, and he smiles. He replaces his fingers with his lips, trailing gentle kisses all over your face, until you’re giggling softly against him. He pauses, hovering over your lips, breath mingling with your own. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers, “so much.”

His eyes are as deep as you remember, dark gold containing vast infinites that he’s promised you so many times before, without hesitation, always, always. Your thumb brushes over his cheek. 

“Me too,” you whisper back, and you pull him towards you, leaning your body against his like you can meld yourself into him, like you can match your heartbeats until they beat as one, like no distance is close enough for the two of you. Your fingertips press against the skin at the back of his neck, trying to tell him  _ it’s okay, you’re here now, you’ll always find your back way to him, because he is home and your heart will always point towards home _ in less words. 

He sighs against your lips, a smile of contentment playing on his. His hand runs through your hair one more time, before pushing you against his chest, under his chin. You shift closer, until your nose presses against his collarbone. Breathing him in. 

For the first time in a long time, sleep comes easy and willingly for the both of you.

**Author's Note:**

> i keep writing these two falling asleep against each other, oop
> 
> join me in crying over volleycats:  
> tumblr @ [puddingcatbae](http://puddingcatbae.tumblr.com)  
> twitter @ [puddingcatbae](http://twitter.com/puddingcatbae)


End file.
